


heroes are needed, so heroes get made

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, BUT RELOADED into the siege of white harbor, Eventual Fluff, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Love at First Sight, M/M, Robb Stark is a Gift, Siege of Storm's End, Sieges, The Author Regrets Nothing, Throbb Week, in which robb is stannis and theon is davos for a change, you all see where i'm going here right??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 10:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12107076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “So, your terms would be…?”“I smuggle your food in, when the war is over the Iron Islands are fully reinstated in their old position, my family gets the Seastone Chair again, maybe we might even strike an alliance or two around the Seven Kingdoms and the likes. What do you say?”Robb doesn’t even think about it. It’s a sound proposal, he can’t care less for what horrible ideas Balon Greyjoy had in the past and honestly, this Theon sounds competent and smart and entirely fair, and since he’s also technically saving Jon’s hide here, Jon would have even less problems than Robb accepting the deal.“I say we have a deal, my lord,” Robb says.Or: in which Robb has a castle to hold and no food left to feed his soldiers, and Theon has the means to help him out.





	heroes are needed, so heroes get made

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's _role reversal_ day for Throbb Week 2017, and while planning for it I realized I already had done the personality swap, Robb as a hostage and a few other things that would count as role reversal, and I went like, how the hell do I do this, and then I realized, well, _they can role swap with *other people*, can't they_ , so... have the siege of Storm's End, throbb flavor, in which Robb is Stannis and Theon is Davos and they have a lot less quibbles than those two when it comes to _not_ angsting in such a circumstance. I DON'T EVEN KNOW. (This was nearly titled with that Davos quote about his tongue being Stannis's but then I realized this lacked the necessary porn for it, SOOO. You probably didn't want to know this, but I informed you anyway.)
> 
> So, as usual: nothing belongs to me except the plot/canon divergence, the title is from Springsteen and yeah that's what I have, have fun. /o\

_If they take White Harbor everything’s over,_ Robb’s father had said before heading South. _Don’t let them take it. At any cost. Or we’re done for_.

Easier said than done, Robb thinks as he assesses the situation concerning their food.

The situation is a thrice-darned disaster.

Their meat is almost finished. There are enough potatoes to last them one week at most. Fruit is not even an option. Fishing isn’t either, not when they’re fucking surrounded by the royal fleet at every other corner and they can’t get past the walls, not yet, but… they might, if they send out people to _fish_. And thing is, the fort is _full_ of soldiers. They’ve had minor losses until now, which people complimented Robb about… until it meant that they had no food left to eat.

Robb tightens his belt. He’s had to make a new hole in it, yesterday.

He sighs. “Kill the horses.”

“My lord –” Patrek Mallister starts.

“Not _all_ of them,” Robb says. “But we need meat. _All_ of us. A horse can feed ten men. It’s either that or we starve in a week. Ten will do, for now.”

“Very well,” Mallister says.

“And ration the meat. It has to last as long as we possibly can. As far as it concerns _my_ share, ration it further and give the rest to my brothers.”

“Lord Stark,” Mallister says, “ _you_ cannot afford to –”

“I can handle it. _Children_ can’t.”

Mallister nods and leaves. Robb looks back at their meager food reserves.

He hopes his mother and sisters in Riverrun are faring better than this.

\--

“Robb,” Jon tells him that evening, “maybe – maybe I should just –”

“Jon, _don’t you dare_ going there,” Robb interrupts him, shoving half of his potatoes inside Jon’s plate. Bran and Rickon have a full portion, and Robb wishes Father hadn’t left them with _him_ , but bringing too many people to Riverrun wasn’t a good idea, it was too far South, and he had assumed White Harbor would be better defended.

Of course it is.

They just hadn’t taken _this_ small problem into account.

“Robb, it’s _my_ fault. I – I never wanted it, I don’t – I can’t live with knowing they’re causing this uproar for _me_ , I should just leave and tell the king to just kill me already. Or maybe I could take the black –”

“ _Jon_ ,” Robb stops him, “you didn’t ask for it, you didn’t _choose_ it and it’s barbaric that the king is so over in his head that he’d have you _dead_ because of your father when you didn’t even know him. I’ll die before I let them put a hand on you and that’s _final_ , all right?”

“All right,” Jon replies with a choked voice, and Robb’s hand covers his as they eat their meager dinner.

Thing is, sometimes he has doubts. Then he thinks of Jon’s face when he found out that he was _not_ Ned Stark’s son but rather his sister’s and that the king was willing to forget years of friendship in order to have him dead, and that Ned Stark was willing to secede and take back the North so that he wouldn’t have to give him up, and he knows he’ll eat flesh from his dead men’s corpses before he surrenders willingly.

The problem is, _will everyone else_?

\--

The war goes on.

Robb holds the fort.

No one passes through White Harbor, and his soldiers might be starving but they’re apparently proud of serving under one of the best commanders in this war, or so everyone says.

Robb wishes he didn’t have to find out _like this_ that he’s good at tactics, and orders Mallister to kill more horses.

\--

“We have thirty horses left,” Dacey Mormont tells him softly as he looks over at the newly arrived ravens.

One is from the king. It grants him and his siblings their lives, and possibly their mother, since she hadn’t known from the beginning about the _treason against the crown_ his father was trying to commit. Of course, in order to have it, he should bend the knee, give Jon up and declare his father a traitor.

He throws it in the fire.

One is from his father. Their army isn’t defeated, the Dornish have sided with them because they were Targaryen loyalists from the beginning and that’s good news, but it’s not _enough_ , and the Dornish aren’t helping them _now_.

_Please try to hold on a bit longer_ , his father wrote.

Of course he will _try_ , Robb sighs, and doesn’t burn the letter.

The third is from the Night’s Watch. The Lord Commander says that can’t spare any men nor any food even if he wishes they could, but they’re understaffed as it is and if he sends Robb half of his entire force, he’d only have too many mouths to feed and the Wall would be without the bare minimum of men it needs to be held.

Well, here goes Robb’s desperate attempt at getting any help, since there’s literally no one else who could send them food or men or _anything_ of the kind. He doesn’t want _men_ , though. He just wants some fucking potatoes or food that will last him another month.

He sighs and burns that raven, too.

“What should we do?” Dacey looks gaunt. Same as all of them, really.

“Kill them all,” Robb sighs.

“Robb, _think_ about it. If we do, we can’t send any messengers anywhere.”

“Have we, lately? The roads are manned from the south. There are only women and children in the castles, and they will not send us food, and if we send people away we’d just put them in danger. We have more than two hundred mouths to feed. Have them killed, Dacey. I kept you alive this long, can you trust me to do it for a bit longer?”

“Robb, _you_ I trust. _You_ are certainly not the problem. I have a feeling your father would have gained by bringing you with instead of leaving you here.”

“Maybe, but it’s no matter now. Kill those horses. And _ration that meat_.”

“Consider it done. But you know they will last us two weeks at most, don’t you?”

Robb _does_.

He sighs.

“Tell everyone to make sure that any cats running around here _don’t_ leave the premises.”

“You want to eat _them_?”

“If it comes to that. People have eaten rats, in desperate moments. I have a feeling cats would taste slightly better.”

“Put it like that,” Dacey agrees, “you have a point. Very well, we’ll get ready for the cats, if there’s the need.”

Robb sincerely hopes there won’t be. How long can this war take, anyway?

Then he thinks, _and how long did Robert’s rebellion take? Certainly, it took months if not a year_.

Gods, they _cannot_ possibly last as long as that.

\--

Three weeks pass. Nothing happens. As much as Robb rationed the meat, it’s about to finish. They only have not many potatoes left.

“Kill the cats,” he tells Dacey as he looks at his meager reserves.

\--

“I vote that we just leave,” Lord Karstark says at the next council, and _of course_ he would. “We’re doing _nothing_ here, not even fighting, and we’re eating what, cats? All for the sake of a southern-born bastard?”

Jon, who’s standing in a far corner, visibly flinches. Robb is tired and hungry and hasn’t slept more than three hours at once for the past three weeks, and he’s _done_.

“Fine,” he says, standing up so fast and abruptly that the chair flies towards the wall with a crash. No one dares say a word. “Take your men and bloody leave, my lord. You know what, it’d be a great deal of food I’d save to feed the others, and honest, if you really wanted to, you could have done that _before_ I had to ration the horses for two hundred men instead of one hundred and fifty. I can hold this fort with even less than that. How many people have died since we’ve been here?”

“About fifteen, my lord,” Dacey supplies.

“Right. _Fifteen_. You’re standing in the only battlefield in this thrice-darned war, if you want to call it such, where the losses have been minimal. And if you think that I’m following my father’s orders, I’m _not._ I’ve planned the defense myself, _without you_ , and I can keep it going without you. Actually, anyone who wants to leave is welcome to. As far as I’m concerned, I’m _not_ going to stand for a king who’d murder someone just because of their _blood_ when they had no idea they even had it. _Jon_ is my brother and I _will_ keep this fort if it fucking kills me and if I have to eat the rats. Do you think I’m not feeling hunger myself?”

He shrugs, takes off his belt and slams it on the table.

There are _three_ newly made holes in it.

“I had to make a new one yesterday. That’s how much bloody weight I lost for this siege. I’m happy to see that you don’t seem to have lost three notches in your own belt, my lord, but if you think that I’m going to surrender because you’re tired of _doing nothing_ and holding the defenses, you’re _wrong_. I’ve said my piece.”

For a moment, no one says a word.

Then –

“Rickard, honest,” Greatjon Umber snorts, “you just got your arse handed to you by a boy of six and ten. Are you _really_ going to make it look as if he has more steel in his spine than you? Even if it’s kind of obvious, at this point.”

Everyone else laughs. Karstark sulks and says he’ll stay.

Too bad. Robb was honestly hoping he’d leave.

\--

“Robb,” Jon pleads that evening, “at least take some of my food. Fine, you won’t let me surrender myself and end this madness, I understand, but you can’t honestly assume this won’t kill _you_ , and then who holds the fort, _I_ do?”

Robb wants to refuse, he really does, but Jon does have a point.

He accepts half of Jon’s food, which makes… half a regular portion of what he’d have in Winterfell for dinner.

“At least cat’s not so bad to the taste,” he tries to joke as he chews as slowly as he can.

Jon snorts and tells him that he really can see a silver lining everywhere.

Robb laughs back and thinks, _I wish I could, because when we kill all the cats around the fort we’re screwed_.

\--

“Robb,” Bran tells him a few days later, “that meat is _not_ rabbit.”

“No,” Robb sighs, “and let’s leave it at that.”

“Robb –”

“Bran, _please_ , just pretend it is.”

Bran gives him a solemn nod that reminds Robb of their father, and he wants to break down crying. He’s sitting on the bed Bran’s sharing with Rickon, who is fast asleep – he’s sleeping a _lot_ these days, but he’s _four_ and he needs it, never mind that he probably figured out that if you sleep then you don’t have to feel hunger.

Robb wishes he could do the same. He reaches out, ruffles Bran’s hair. “Tell you what,” he says, “if we survive this, I’m taking you and Jon and we’re going on our own wherever you want. It can be an adventure.”

“Really? Isn’t _this_ an adventure?”

“I meant an adventure like the ones in _songs_ , Bran,” Robb snorts, and why does he fucking want to _cry_?

“Right. Sorry, I thought it would be funny. It’s not, is it?”

“It’s all right,” Robb sniffs, “I mean, we should survive this first, I suppose.” He feels a few tears rushing over his face and he wipes them off hastily.

Bran’s small fingers cover his hand.

Robb grips it back and thinks, _what would my men and Lord Karstark assume if they saw my little brother trying to console me?_

He decides that he can’t care less.

That evening, he sleeps on the ground next to their bed.

\--

The next day, there are no ravens, the bay is still full of ships carrying the Baratheon banner and Robb is really just glad that he knows _Renly_ is handing the siege and Renly is a lousy commander.

Well, _fine_ , waiting for them to starve is time-consuming but also efficient, Robb figures, but they resorted to it after weeks of trying to breach their defenses and failing.

Robb wants to cry. He really does.

“My lord?” Smalljon Umber doesn’t knock before coming into Lord Manderly’s former solar. Good thing Lord Manderly is fighting south with the rest of his family, Robb thinks, and that all the commoners left White Harbor the moment they realized an army was going to _stay_ there and steal all their resources.

“Please tell me it’s not bad news.”

“I – I don’t know, honestly,” he says. “But – well. A mute boy brought this to one of the men at the gates.”

“What – from _inside the city_?”

“So it seems. Anyway, I read it. And – it might be good news, but it also might be a trap. I have no idea.”

Robb takes the message. The first thing he notices is that it has a lovely penmanship – whoever wrote this certainly learned to write at an early age.

_Lord Stark_ , it reads, _it seems like you are in dire need of food and that you will not get it from the mainland. If you’re interested in some, be at the Wolf’s Den at midday, on the beach_.

There’s no signature whatsoever. “Call Mallister,” Robb tells the Smalljon, and he’s fetched not long later.

“ _Is_ there even a small beach near that prison?” Robb asks. He _has_ studied the layout of the place before coming here.

“Yes,” Mallister confirms. “It’s really not that big, though. And most of all… I mean, as far as I know this castle has a small entrance that heads there, and Lord Manderly keeps it secret, because of course it’s quicker to reach the prison, but not many people even know the place exists and it’s _really_ hard to get there.”

Robb considers the possibilities. It might be a trap or it might not, but he knows cat meat is a limited resource, and unless they really start looking for rats, they _will_ have to eat their own dead, and the irony of it is that _they don’t have nearly enough_ of them to feed the entire place, should they resort to it.

“I’m going,” he says.

“My lord –” Lord Umber starts, “I don’t know if you should go alone.”

“I’m not. I’m bringing Dacey with. If it’s a trap, we’ll be able to handle it. But I don’t think it’s a trap. I mean, if Renly knew about it, wouldn’t he have stormed the castle already?”

“Fair point,” Mallister concedes. “I’ll find her. Midday is not long from now. Anyway, the mute boy said he’d bring you there.”

Not long later, he and Dacey are following the mute boy towards the beach in question. He’s not older than ten, but he looks sharp as a whip, and Robb tries to guess where he might come from, but he’s wearing nondescript close and of course, he doesn’t talk. The boy leads them through a few abandoned roads until they do, indeed, show up on the small beach in question. Robb can see that there’s a small tunnel to the side which seems like some kind of small cave, but knowing what Mallister told him, probably leads to the fort.

He doesn’t know what to expect on the beach.

Certainly, not a very handsome young man on a small boat. He’s dressed all in black, which matches his dark hair and eyes, and his clothing would _also_ be nondescript, if it wasn’t for a small golden kraken sewn at the bottom of the cloak.

Which is interesting, because no one’s heard much of the Greyjoys since Lord Balon rebelled a few years ago and King Robert laid waste to the Iron Islands.

“Rumors said you were in need of food, my lord,” the man says, smiling an easy if worried grin at seeing their state, “but I see you’re in _dire_ need.”

“What?”

“I can see the bones on your collarbone, and she’s hardly better off than you. _However_ , I think I can help you.”

Robb isn’t sure that he’s dreaming all of this. “Wait a moment. Let’s start from the beginning. I can see you’re from the Iron Islands, but _who are you_ , and how can you help me?”

“Right, that’s fair.” The man gets off the small boat with a flourish. “I am indeed from the Iron Islands. You’re observant.”

“I wouldn’t be alive right now if I wasn’t.”

“Fair, as well. Anyway, my name is Theon Greyjoy.”

“Wait. Last son of Lord Balon?”

“My father is no more, not that anyone thinks of him fondly since he about destroyed our realm. King Robert wasn’t very lenient. Anyhow, these days my not so fair islands aren’t doing too well. We still raid here and there, but it’s mostly still nursing wounds. My sister is doing an admirable job of holding them together, but I heard of your plight, and I also heard that your father _might_ actually have good chances of pulling through… if you don’t fail. Therefore, I took the liberty of taking a ship and a few men and come here.”

“Your ship isn’t _here_ , I wager.”

“Of course not, it’s a lot farther. I wouldn’t want Renly Baratheon to find out about us. Anyhow, I also took the liberty of bringing you the only kind of food we have to spare. Please, do come over.”

Robb swallows and does, joining the man towards his little ship. Theon raises a blanket covering a small cargo, and –

Robb hadn’t thought his mouth would water so at the sight of salted fish and a _lot_ of onions and a few potatoes.

“We have nothing else in abundance,” Theon explains.

“How – how much did you say you have?”

“An entire ship’s worth of it. Should last you another month if you eat twice per day.”

Robb isn’t sure he’s _not_ dreaming all of this.

He wills his hands to stop shaking, even if he knows everyone has noticed.

“And – do you plan to lead your ship here and smuggle it through the tunnel?”

“My lord, I see that word of your perceptiveness wasn’t exaggerated.” Theon is openly smirking now, but he’s not _teasing_.

Robb just hopes the price to pay isn’t too high.

“I imagine you’re not doing this out of charity.”

“Why, _no_ , but I think you shall find my terms acceptable.”

“Very well. I’m listening.”

“See,” Theon says, “no one in the islands is very _forward_. Since my father completely botched his dumb rebellion, people just want to lay low. But I don’t like to _lay low_. I like to think I can improve my situation and my people’s. Now, if King Robert wins this war we’re fucked as before, but it’s not as if my little plan here would change much, since no one would really know I ever was here if I high-tailed out of White Harbor before things got rough.”

“Fair enough.”

“ _But_ ,” Theon goes on, “should your father win the war, which seems likely from what we hear, there will be a _new_ order around Westeros, and a new king. Wouldn’t it?”

“There would,” Robb replies, understanding where this is heading at once. “A king related to _me_ , whoever it ends up being. I imagine that if I were to be the champion of your family’s cause with _them_ , you would be the person dragging your islands out of their drought, wouldn’t you?”

“My lord,” Theon grins, “we understand each other splendidly.”

“So, your terms would be…?”

“I smuggle your food in, when the war is over the Iron Islands are fully reinstated in their old position, my family gets the Seastone Chair again, maybe we might even strike an alliance or two around the Seven Kingdoms and the likes. What do you say?”

Robb doesn’t even think about it. It’s a sound proposal, he can’t care less for what horrible ideas Balon Greyjoy had in the past and honestly, this Theon sounds competent and smart and entirely fair, and since he’s also technically saving Jon’s hide here, Jon _would_ have even less problems than Robb accepting the deal.

“I say we have a deal, my lord,” Robb says.

“Excellent,” Greyjoy grins, “then I shall be back when the night comes and maybe while everyone else feasts we can write it down? I _absolutely_ do trust you, but –”

“My lord,” Robb says, “my _brother_ , or cousin, if you prefer, is currently residing here, too, and I think he’ll be glad to treat with you personally.”

“That seals it, then. Would you care for a bit of fish before I leave?”

Robb is tempted to.

He really is.

But –

“It wouldn’t be fair to my men. I’ll eat when they do.”

“ _Honorable_ , too,” Theon grins. “Well then, I shall see you here tonight. Bring people. We’ll have a lot 0f food to carry. Wex, come on, we need to go warn the others.”

Robb watches him leave while Dacey shakes her head. “Did I just dream that?”

“I don’t know,” Robb answers here, “but I don’t look at gift horses in the mouth. Let’s go back and find fifteen people who might have enough strength to bring the food in, shall we?”

\--

Theon Greyjoy sticks to his word and comes back that evening with a way larger ship.

The moment Robb sees _how much_ food the man brought, he thinks he could bloody kiss him for that, and thing is, given that Greyjoy is _handsome_ and that his smile is easy and charming, Robb thinks he actually… really could do that. He settles on trying to not weep down in relief.

When they bring food in, Theon and the men he brought with are quite literally hailed as heroes and welcomed with cheers louder than news of the war being won, and Robb doesn’t think neither onions nor salted fish have ever tasted this good in his life.

Gods, they have enough for _seconds_.

Jon is entirely too happy to confer with Theon later – Robb tells them that he doesn’t need to be involved, really, he’s just here to man the fort, and stays back looking at the main hall filled with people digging into their plates, and he doesn’t stop himself from shedding a few tears of relief.

Then he joins the rounds to bring food to the men who are keeping guard outside.

\--

Later, he knocks on the door of the room they reserved for Theon – they gave him one of the best rooms left available, and no one even tried to argue.

“So,” he asks, coming in after receiving permission, “did you and Jon have a profitable talk?”

Theon pats a pocket in his vest. “We most certainly did. I shall be glad when your father wins this war, Lord Stark.”

“Hopefully. And since you just saved _my_ hide and everyone else’s, I think you can call me Robb. I never cared much for honorifics.”

“Why, then please do feel free to call me Theon. No one really calls me _my lord_ anyway, these days. Was the fish to your liking?”

Robb snorts. “ _Theon_ , to my liking or not, I think the entire castle could have kissed you for that,” he says, not quite meaning to, but he _does_ , and he hopes he hasn’t gone overboard –

But then Theon _grins back_.

“The entire castle is a bit too much for me, even if I _might_ have shared my bed with more than one person at the same time in the past,” he admits. “Certainly not two hundred people at once. A man has his limits. _However_ , I’m wondering if you mean, the entire castle _including_ yourself?”

Robb thinks that he likes where this is going.

“What if I meant exactly that?”

“Then,” Theon says, “I think I should like to see how grateful for my services you might be, _my lord_.”

“I already told you,” Robb says, moving closer on the bed and thinking _am I really doing this_ , and then realizing that he can’t give two fucks, not after _months_ of holding the damned fort and almost starving to death, “you can call me Robb.” He speaks right against Theon’s mouth, and then he _does_ kiss him, and he does that _meaning it_ – he _has_ kissed girls here and there and he’s not a completely green boy, _thank you_ , and he’s delighted when Theon kisses back and he does it as eagerly.

“Why,” he drawls a moment later, “while I think you could do with a bit more meat on you, but it’s understandable, that was an entirely better reward than I could hope for.”

“I will look forward to put on some more weight thanks to your onions. And there was more, where that came from.”

“ _Really_. Then I would be delighted if you showed me _how much_.”

Robb is _very_ glad to.

The door stays locked for the entire night, and no one dares to walk in or interrupt them, even if they didn’t do anything to keep it to themselves.

Robb is entirely beyond caring – he’s kept them alive for this long, they can let him have one bloody night.

\--

“So,” Theon tells him, not _too_ long later, “I have news for you.”

“Do share,” Robb says, relishing in drinking the fine red that their newfound Dornish allies sent over to celebrate their hard-won victory.

“Our agreements are going to be valid, and your father had nothing to complain. But your brother might have suggested that _I_ come to Winterfell with you because since alliances should be stricken and my sister isn’t going to leave Pyke, _someone_ should stay North and do her bidding and so on.”

“And did my father accept?” Robb asks, hoping for a positive answer –

“He most surely did,” Theon grins.

_Oh_.

“Then – then I would be the happiest man in Westeros if I could show you around my home.”

Theon winks at him in the most lascivious way anyone could think of, but it’s quite all right – Robb is entirely down with it.

“Does that include your bedroom?”

“That might be the first stop.”

“Then I can’t wait,” Theon says, delighted, and Robb decides that he’s very much looking forward to going back to Winterfell.

He hopes it’s very, very soon.

End


End file.
